


The Art of Losing

by justrae2010



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Career Ending Injuries, Concussions, Depression, Head Injury, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Seizures, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010
Summary: When Yuuri suffers three head injuries in three weeks, crashes through his own wedding and is forced to retire, it looks like he's lost everything.Only Yuuri doesn't take losing well.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 37
Kudos: 111





	1. Out of Time

The smooth grate of blades on ice was usually a comfort to Yuuri, but for some reason, it just wound his nerves up even tighter today. It was too loud, coupled with the announcements booming through the ENMAX centre -  _ thundering  _ around his skull.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t think straight, blinking down at his skates at the rinkside. His knuckles were white around the edge of the barrier.

Short, sharp bursts of air darted through his lungs. It was the worst thing he could be doing; he needed smooth sucks of air with plenty of oxygen, slow measured breaths to keep his head steady. Breathing in through his nose, he counted to a shaky five before he let it whistle out again through his teeth. The next one though, was nothing short of a gasp.

Warm hands closed over his from the other side of the barrier. 

“Hey, Yuuri!” he recognised the Russian accent in a heartbeat. “Still stretching? You should get on the ice before you run out of time.”

_ Yes _ , Yuuri agreed in his head. So why couldn’t he move? More air wheezed out of him.

“I can’t believe we both got the same assignment. I’m so excited! You’re going to be amazing this season -I can just feel it!”

Yuuri didn’t answer.

He scrunched his eyes shut and groaned softly; he wished Victor would stop talking. Fingers still clinging to the edge of the barrier, Yuuri bent his knees and crouched down, opening his chest out for more desperately needed air. It still didn’t help. Had his ribcage always been so tight? It was easier to tilt his head up from that lower angle though, blinking up at Victor Nikiforov’s brilliant, beaming smile. 

Of course, Victor was excited - it was his first competition since returning to competitive skating! He was finally back on the ice where he belonged, both of them miraculously assigned Skate Canada as their first Grand Prix competition. They would finally share the ice, as Yuuri had so desperately wanted.

Only now it was the last thing on his mind, dropping his gaze down to the blue barrier and trying to remember how to breathe.

“Yuuri, are you okay?”

_ No _ , he answered in his head, eyes widening as he admitted it. The panic wasn’t going away. He was not okay - it was all going wrong. He straightened up slowly, legs trembling slightly beneath him. Air passing shakily between his lips, Yuuri blinked up at his fiancee. 

Victor’s eyes were sparkling like jewels, glinting with excitement and child-like happiness. It was so innocent, so pure. His smile was stretched from ear to ear, cheeks surely aching from the push of that delighted grin that scrunched his eyes up slightly in the corners. God, it was beautiful. How could Yuuri disappoint that? 

He gulped hard. 

“Victor, I can’t remember it.” The words tumbled out in a garbled rush, Yuuri hearing his own voice like it was through a bubble.

Victor’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about?”

Yuuri’s lip quivered.

“I … I can’t remember the routine. It’s-it’s just gone and I-” The air hitched in his lungs and he slapped his hands over his mouth before he choked a sob. His eyes felt wet.  _ Dammit _ .

It was gone. It was impossible, but it was gone. Yuuri couldn’t remember the routine he had spent so long practising and drilling into his system, the perfect moves that Victor had choreographed just for him to show off all his strengths and build on improving his weaknesses… how? How could that happen? Of all the times to go blank, it had to be then - right by the rinkside in front of the whole world, with his silky blue costume flowing over his body and the competition barely about to start!

Gentle fingers brushed the side of his neck, jolting him back to reality out of his frantic thoughts. Victor’s face was millimeters away from his.

The world beyond was insignificant, drowned out by Victor’s soft yet demanding blue eyes. Nothing else mattered. The noise of the stadium slowly faded away and Victor’s almost sultry expression filled Yuuri’s scope of vision, refusing to let him be distracted by anything other than the Russian’s hooded eyes and plump, kissable lips moving in closer.

Yuuri forgot how to breathe entirely.

“Look at me.” Victor’s voice was like velvet. “You’re just nervous. You’re going to be fine. Just get on the ice and it will all come back to you, I promise.”

How could he promise that? Yuuri didn’t have time to gamble on chances -  _ he needed to remember his routine! _ He couldn’t skate without it. Of course, he was nervous. He was always nervous, but he never forgot his programme over it! Victor’s warm, confident smile should make him feel better, but it didn't. A thousand sharp quips rejecting Victor’s every word hovered on the top of Yuuri’s tongue, but he froze just before he said them. He couldn’t do it. Victor was competing too this time, not just watching. If he hurt Victor it could affect his performance, and if he was distracted on the ice- 

“Okay,” Yuuri forced out, calmer than he felt. He breathed a sigh through his teeth and straightened up, peeling his hands down from his face. “Okay.”

Victor’s fingers closed around his and tugged gently, guiding Yuuri along the barrier until he found the opening and stepped out shakily onto the ice. He rolled his shoulders, straining to listen to  _ anything  _ through the insistent buzzing in his ears.

A quick squeeze of his hand in the centre of the rink, and Victor was suddenly gone. Yuuri tried to remember the opening notes of his music choice.

He pushed off stiffly into the precious little opening of his routine that he remembered. Muscle memory would have to take care of the rest. Yuuri didn’t dare think about what would happen if it didn’t. He’d already warmed up and stretched at the rinkside, but suddenly his joints felt locked and his limbs felt heavy. He forced himself to move regardless, gliding through the steps in a mockery of what he’d done in practise:  _ step, arm, spin, turn.... _ then what?

_ Muscle memory,  _ Yuuri willed, praying for it to kick in as his throat ran dry and his mind went blank. Only it didn’t. A wave of panic crested. He didn’t feel anything…

“Hey, Katsuki!”

“Watch out!”

Yuuri blinked.

Emil’s face flashed before his eyes.  _ Oh no oh no oh no- _

The breath knocked out of Yuuri in a tangle of limbs and pain. Ice rushed up to greet him and he screwed his eyes shut just in time - half a second before fireworks exploded behind his eyes and pain burst in his temple. His brain rattled brutally in his skull. His body stopped moving long before his mind did. Blistering cold smothered his cheek and a groan reverberated in his chest, a dull ache clawing further up his body with every passing second. He didn’t want to open his eyes, watching the dots dancing in his head instead for a moment longer.

“I'm so sorry, Yuuri!” Emil’s voice swam drunkenly through Yuuri’s ears. “I thought your routine went in the other direction. I didn't think-”

The cold of the ice started to seep through Yuuri’s costume and he shivered hard, blotting out whatever Emil might have been saying. All the noises sounded the same - crowd, voices and music alike - just one droning buzz that was deafening to Yuuri’s ears.

The sharp grate of blades cut through it suddenly.

“Yuuri, are you okay?” 

Yuuri groaned softly. That voice. He recognised that voice. Peeling his eyes open, grey hair and blue stars swam in front of him. The stars blinked.

The hand that cupped his cheek felt burning compared to the stinging bite of the ice, cushioning his face from the cold. A thumb stroked over his cheek. Something warm smudged over his skin, making Yuuri shiver as the sensation ran down over the corner of his eyebrow.

Suddenly, Victor’s voice was sharp. “What happened?”

The front of Yuuri’s temple throbbed and drowned out whatever Emil stuttered with the pounding of his own heartbeat. He didn’t know he could feel his pulse in his head before then.

“Is he okay?”

_ Who was that? _ The new voice was closer than Emil and Yuuri felt the pressure of a gloved hand closing over his shoulder.

“No,” Victor said. “He’s bleeding.”

Bleeding? Was he? Yuuri swore under his breath, feeling his lips drag against the palm holding his face off the ice. 

Summoning whatever strength he had left, Yuuri braced his hands against the ice and pressed, fighting the urge to wince away from the sting of the cold against his bare fingers. His arms trembled with the effort. A second later, they slumped down again, Yuuri’s arms folding underneath him. He dragged them up along the ice, nudging Victor’s hand free and burying his face in his forearms.

A sharp gasp of air cut through his lungs and he felt the familiar sting of tears in the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t from the pain. The pain he could live with, throbbing dully in the front of his skull and aching his limbs from the collision. In that one second of movement, Yuuri had caught the flash of a medical band across the stranger’s sleeve. A medic. A medic was there, watching him struggle to lift himself off the ice after a crash. Usually, that only went one way...

Victor’s voice was in his ear again. 

“Yuuri, you’ve got to get up.” Fingers touched tentatively at Yuuri’s arm and he felt their slight tremble.

“Has he had any other injuries recently?”

“No,” Victor said automatically. Even Yuuri felt the pause in the air the second the word left his lips though, scrunching his eyes shut. _ Don’t say it _ , he willed desperately, knowing exactly what the Russian was suddenly remembering.  _ Don’t- _ “Yes,” Victor changed his answer. “He fell on a quad toe loop a few days ago. Mild concussion.”

Yuuri swore again.

“But the scan from the hospital said he was fine. Emil, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He sounded shaky. “Yuuri…”

“He’s gonna be okay. Aren’t you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri couldn’t answer, not through the myriad of swearing running through his mind. After half a second of darkness behind his closed eyes, he pushed himself off the ice. Instead of up, he pushed back, folding his legs beneath him and sitting back on his calves. With a moment's breather, he straightened his arms and lifted his torso off the ice.

He regretted it instantly. The crowd across the rink span the second he opened his eyes and he would have slumped back down onto the ice if Victor’s arm hadn’t caught him across his chest. Pulling him up, Victor’s arm reached across his back, gripping Yuuri’s shirt just behind his armpit. 

Grunting from the effort, Victor slowly dragged the pair of them to their feet. 

Yuuri’s blades connected with the ice again but he wasn’t skating as he glided over the rink, hauled along from being draped over Victor’s shoulders. He felt them slump under his weight, Victor’s strides dragging.

The impossibly loud sound of his own breathing quickly drew his attention back to himself though. Every rasp of air was throbbing in his ears. He was numb and limp as Victor guided him to the ringside off the ice, barely having the strength to lift his skates over the short board to get him back on solid ground. Gasping with the effort, he fell back. Luckily, there was a bench behind him to catch him. His bones felt like lead as he doubled over, bracing his trembling arms on his knees and groaning hard. He screwed his eyes shut as his stomach lurched. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

Victor’s hand smoothed at the side of his face. “Yuuri, look at me. Can you see me?”

Yuuri peeled his eyes open reluctantly. Victor blotted twice in his vision before a sharp pain shot through his temple and he scrunched his eyes shut again with a hiss. Pain radiated from his head round to the back of his neck and top of his spine. That couldn't be good. He bowed over his knees again, threading a hand through his hair where his head hurt. His fingers felt wet. 

He gritted his teeth against the pain. “Just give me a minute.” 

“Mr Nikiforov.” The medic's voice was stern. “A word?”

That could only mean one thing.

Yuuri fought the urge to whine as the comforting pressure of Victor’s palm disappeared from his cheek and the air in front of him shifted. Quiet voices drifted over in urgent tones, only just too far away to make out the words. It made Yuuri's stomach curl again. 

In barely a minute, Victor was back. Yuuri peeled his eyes open tentatively to see him. 

The light blinded him for a minute and it took a few blinks before Victor finally stopped swaying in front of him. He was crouched down on his knees, an almost pained expression pinching his eyebrows together. 

He gulped hard. “Yuuri, I-”

“No.” 

The word slipped out more aggressively than Yuuri had intended but it got the meaning across at least. His jaw tensed at the pain throbbing in his skull with every word he spoke. 

He knew what Victor was going to say and he was not going to let him say it. 

“Yuuri, please-”

“No!” More pain. Another wince. “I’m fine! I just need a minute.”

“Yuuri, you can’t skate like this.” Victor's voice was pleading, begging. So hard to resist. 

Only he had to, Yuuri reminded himself, curling his fingers into fists and gasping a breath. He needed to stop his head spinning. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

_ Lies _ . All lies, but he couldn't give in now. Not after all they'd worked for. He could get over this. If he had a few minutes, a sip of water and got some feeling back into his muscles then perhaps he could-

“Yuuri, you’re  _ bleeding.  _ I’m still your coach. I have to take care of you. You have to withdraw.”

Yuuri's eyes screwed shut, hot tears threatening.  _ No.  _ He kept them at bay for now, heartbeat hammering away at his ribcage in quickly growing panic. “Victor, please!”

“If you skate like this, you’re just going to hurt yourself even more.” Victor's tone was firmer. Yuuri couldn't argue. “The medic thinks you should go to hospital. I’ll come with you. I’ll just get your bag and we’ll go-”

_ No _ . Yuuri's fingers curled around the bench beneath him. He wasn't going anywhere. 

“You’re competing,” Yuuri forced out in a voice much calmer than he felt, sucking in a deep breath. It helped. “You can’t-”

“I’m your coach first.”

_ No.  _

For once, it wasn’t what Yuuri wanted to hear. He shook his head once - before the sharp shoot of pain stabbing through his skull stopped him. He gasped, doubling over his knees. “Please, don’t,” he begged through gritted teeth.

Cool fingers cradled the back of his head and Yuuri forced his eyes open in response, ignoring the way Victor swayed in front of him. An anxious crease pressed between the Russian’s eyebrows, his lips ghosted apart. His glittering eyes were annoyingly pretty. They were both hard and soft at the same time; Yuuri couldn’t bear it.

Tears blurred his coach. “Please…”

Victor’s fingertips were tender as they grazed over Yuuri’s cheek and he murmured something unintelligible in Russian. 

“Okay,” he finally said in English. His voice sounded strained, forehead leaning forward to touch against Yuuri’s. Yuuri groaned quietly at the cool skin soothing the heat radiating from his brain. “Okay, I’ll skate. And we’ll go to the hospital afterwards, okay?”

Yuuri’s hand flattened over Victor’s at his cheek, hearing Victor’s breath hitch. Their fingers entwined tightly.

No. 

It was not okay.

Yuuri couldn’t say it though. He couldn’t say anything. His tongue just lolled heavily in his mouth, sitting like a lump of iron in his jaw. Even if he could speak, his protest wouldn’t mean much. He wasn’t the only stubborn one; Victor may be shaken, but there was no way he would let Yuuri back on the ice for this competition. Yuuri could feel it in the tension in his fiance's fingers, hear it in the haggard breaths that washed over his mouth. The decision was made, whether Yuuri agreed to it or not. He didn’t have a choice.

Salt touched his lips. A strangled noise left him as he realised it was his own tears. Salt - and the faint metallic tang of blood. 

Yuuri nodded once.

Victor pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s ring. His fingers felt wet. Was Victor crying too? “Okay.”  _ Yes. _ His voice trembled. “I’ll go and speak to the judges.”

Yuuri screwed his eyes shut. He forced his eyelids tighter together until the thrum of his own pulsing blood cut off the quiet chatter around him, Victor’s voice blending with the medic and somebody new that Yuuri didn’t recognise. He didn’t want to hear. He couldn’t bear it. Pain and something even more agonising swelled in his chest, choking him alongside the blood-stained tears he swallowed. Without Victor’s hands to hold, Yuuri’s fingers curled into tight fists at his temples.

_ Fuck _ .


	2. Nothing Seems to Feel Alright

The second hospital scan came back clear.

Yuuri added it to the building collection back in his and Victor’s St Petersburg apartment, budding evidence that nothing was actually wrong with him except for … well, him.

A fatigue clung to Yuuri’s bones that had nothing to do with the exercise as he pushed himself into another triple jump on the Russian rink the next week - he went sprawling. He didn’t even bother crying out anymore as his thigh grazed painfully over the ice, sliding out of control and counting down the heart stopping seconds until the world stopped spinning. When it did, dull pain throbbed at his leg. He ignored it.

The rest of the Russian team looked on from the rinkside, their faces in furrowed brows and pursed lips. It was obvious what they were thinking.

* * *

Mila leaned her hip against the boards, eyes lingering on the ice. “How many times has he done that jump now?”

“I don’t know,” Georgi said, chin in his palm as he leant his elbows lazily over the boards. His eyes were trained on the ice too. “I lost count.”

“Jeez, he’s really going for it.”

“I wish I could work that hard...”

“Will you guys just shut up and  _ get moving _ already!” Yurio snapped with a brutal kick to Mila’s shin once he’d finished tying his shoe laces. “Shift it, hag!”

Victor was the only one to stay silent, eyes braced on the ice and that of his flailing fiancée. They were cold, gaze as hard as ice-chipped diamond. He didn’t even wince when Yuuri fell down for the ump-teenth time that morning, careering over the ice in a way that would leave blooming black and blue bruises over Yuuri’s otherwise perfect skin. Victor wasn’t looking forward to seeing them later.

Footsteps wandered slowly behind him, the younger skaters and Georgi leaving for lunch, cutting through the harsh slice of Yuuri’s blades through the ice. The soft padding of trainers was a welcome distraction for Victor, something to take his mind off the hard thuds of his fiancée’s body slamming into the ice over and over again.

Mila paused, glancing over her shoulder. “What about Yuuri?”

A stiff shiver ran up Victor’s spine at the sound of Yuuri’s name, a bad feeling curling in his gut. His head bowed over the boards, bangs flopping over his face. He heard more than saw Yuuri’s next fall on the ice, flinching on instinct at the brutal thud. What was it this time? Not enough power on the push? Too slow in the air? Legs sloppy? The way the air stiffened behind him told him that it was bad whatever it was, groaning inwardly to himself.

Before the scratching of skates on the ice could put Yuuri back on his feet though - and back into another failed jump – Yurio’s footsteps stopped behind Victor, tsk-ing unmistakably.

“Hey, Katsudon!” he called across the rink. The scratching paused. “We’re going to lunch. Coming?”

_ Please say yes _ , Victor implored in his head, not having the nerve to look up just yet. Instead he traced out the crisscross patterns on the ice, blood pulsing so loud in his ears that he nearly missed Yuuri’s answer.

He could hear the fake smile in Yuuri’s voice when he did though.

“No, thanks!” gasped back over the ice. “I’ve gotta keep practising.”

Victor’s heart plummeted.

He dragged his head up at last. Silver bangs dragged softly across his face as he righted his neck, skull feeling like it weighed a hundred tonnes as it settled back on his shoulders. His fists rested on the edge of the boards, clenched tight. Frustration welled, feeling the weight of his teammate’s eyes on his back. He knew exactly what they were thinking, shame lifting the hairs on the back of his neck with a chill. He  _ knew. _

Rolling his gaze over his shoulder felt harder than he remembered, neck clicking in protest. Glittering blue met hardened emerald green behind him.

Yurio looked like he wanted to say something else as his eyes shifted from the ice to Victor, slither of something bitter spearing through his harsh gaze. Whatever it was though, he bit it back. A nerve in his jaw twitched. Victor’s eyebrow arched in surprise. Yurio just glared daggers back.

Further down the rink, the footsteps started up again.

Yurio paused before he joined them though, grabbing a fistful of Victor’s shirt by the collar as he passed. He yanked hard, dragging Victor down to his level.

_ “Get a fucking grip.” _

Victor’s eyes shot wide.

He didn’t move - even as Yurio’s fingers uncurled from his shirt - frozen in place with his eyes staring at the floor where Yurio’s leopard print sneakers had stood just half a second before.

He couldn’t believe Yurio had just said that to him. Well, he could - it was Yurio! But it wasn’t teenage spite or usual rudeness...

Yurio was right. 

He needed to get a grip.

It was all slipping through his fingers. Yuuri was doing moves he’d never dreamed of doing before he’d met Victor, was working harder than ever before, doing everything that Victor had ever asked of him … yet somehow, Victor felt like he was in control of none of it anymore, like he was helpless to do nothing but watch while Yuuri worked himself to oblivion.

It only became more clear the more Yuuri jumped, and jumped, and jumped… and didn’t once even look in Victor’s direction.

At his coach.

Victor gritted his jaw as he straightened up and resumed his position against the rink barrier, mind racing. He knew exactly what was going on...

“Victor.”

Victor hadn’t noticed Yakov creep up from behind him, joining him at the barrier. He caught his former coach out of the corner of his eye though, Yakov’s gaze firmly trained on the ice.

Victor said nothing.

“Can I have a word?” Yakov asked quietly, voice terse. “Coach to coach?”

A bitter smirk flickered on Victor’s lips, eyes staying cold. “I thought you didn’t like me playing coach?”

“I don’t.”

Victor’s fists clenched where his arms crossed over the barrier, forcing himself to stay quiet. He felt the air change - the same way it had always used to right before Yakov would give him a bollocking. Only this felt worse. Much worse...

“But it’s one thing being useless,” Yakov went on. “It’s another entirely when it hurts your skater, or worse - you let him hurt himself.”

Because that was exactly what Yuuri was doing. 

Skating beyond the point of exhaustion, not asking Victor for notes, not recording himself… Yuuri wasn’t skating to improve anymore - he was skating to hurt himself. To  _ punish  _ himself.

Victor wasn’t stupid enough to pretend not to know why.

“It’s not funny anymore, Vitya,” Yakov said, breaking the stiff silence. “Especially now you’ve brought it into my rink.”

Victor’s mouth thinned. “You think what happened with Emil was my fault?”

He felt more than he saw the  _ look _ Yakov shot him. 

“I think that was an accident,” Yakov said. “ But this,” His finger jabbed out to the ice - to Yuuri as he span out of another failed jump, spinning across the ice. “ _ This _ is your fault.”

Victor winced, unable to hold onto his pride as Yakov glared at him. He glanced down to his knuckles, avoiding Yakov's gaze.

It didn't spare him from his old mentor's tone though.

_ “Fix it.” _

* * *

At home, Yuuri shut himself in their bedroom.

Victor let him. 

He knew Yuuri needed time, needed space… or maybe that was just what he told himself because he had no idea how to handle it, what to do himself. He waited to hear the water running from the shower, the flop of discarded clothes, the sniffles of Yuuri beginning to cry as it hit him the way it always did…

… they never came. 

There was nothing but silence for two hours, Victor forcing himself to keep busy in the kitchen, hands moving and eyes focussed.

He didn’t know what to do.

The air felt tense - the same way it was after a fight, before either of them had fully calmed down, one trying to bridge the hurt too soon and sending the other spiralling off again into rage. It was that same knife edge. Victor  _ felt _ it. He didn’t know how to handle the situation. If he confronted Yuuri about what was going on at the rink, Yuuri would get defensive and would shut him out more, but if he said nothing, he was allowing it to go on, he was letting Yuuri hurt himself…

He sighed to himself, not sure what the right thing to do was. He needed to do something though. He  _ had _ to.

He was wrenched out of his thoughts though when his stomach gave a rude growl, distracting him.

_ Right _ , he thought, glancing out of the dark window.  _ It was late. _ They hadn’t eaten yet. With the amount of work Yuuri had crammed in that day, he really needed to eat something and refuel. Maybe Victor could make a peace offering with that-

Victor’s eyes popped wide.

An idea sparked off in his head, face brightening with hope. Maybe he could salvage this after all…

* * *

“Yuuri, you want dinner?” he knocked gently on the bedroom door an hour later. “I made katsudon!”

Victor was already smiling. He knew he shouldn’t be so happy given the circumstances but he’d actually made a pretty decent bowl of food for once - and Yuuri’s  _ favourite _ bowl of food at that! He loved katsudon! If anything was going to cheer Yuuri up, it would be this. 

He’d been lucky they happened to have the ingredients in the kitchen. They’d been stocking up for when they’d got back from the competition, for when they’d have a victory to celebrate… obviously, it hadn’t worked out that way, ingredients sat forgotten about.

Until now.

His ears pricked, leaning closer to the door. Surely, Yuuri could smell the food, called by the inviting aroma…

“No.”

Victor blinked.

The smile slipped off his face. Had … had he heard that right? “W-what?”

He pressed his ear flat against the door this time, ignoring how hot the bowls were in his hands and how they tilted dangerously to the side. Yuuri had spoken quietly. Victor must have misheard. There was no way he’d turn down katsudon, absolutely no wa-

“No.”

Victor felt his heart sink bitterly in his chest. 

There it was, clear and undeniable. No. Yuuri didn’t want food, didn’t want katsudon, didn’t want… him. What kind of Yuuri was like that?

Victor ate his bowl miserably by himself, crying over his rice and eating more than he probably should have considering he was supposed to be on Yakov’s strict competition diet. He couldn’t help it. His husband was hurting, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He even had a generous glass of wine too while he was feeling sorry for himself - definitely not on Yakov’s diet plan!

It was only after Victor had finished doing the dishes that he noticed that Makkachin hadn’t come nosing for any food at dinner like she usually did.

_ In fact  _ … Victor glanced around the apartment, peering over the couch and under the coffee table. Makkachin wasn’t anywhere. Worry briefly flittered over Victor’s heart, but he forced himself not to panic. Makka was probably fine. Just because she wasn’t with Victor didn’t mean he was missing. He wasn’t the only one that lived there anymore.

Victor’s eyes travelled to the bedroom door again, round and longing.  _ Maybe … _

He didn’t knock this time. He hadn’t heard anything from the bedroom for a long time now - maybe Yuuri had fallen asleep. He’d had a long day after a difficult week. Victor slipped into the dim bedroom quietly, not wanting to disturb him, steps soft and silent.

He easily spotted Yuuri’s body in the bed, the familiar bumps and curves of his figure unmistakable. There was no extra bump for the sheets though, Victor realising that Yuuri must be lying on top of the covers. Why would he do that? 

And after a moment, the outline of a fluffy friend popped its head up from the darkness.

Victor watched the dim shadows move, watched Yuuri’s hand numbly fall from Makka’s head as the dog perked up, watched his body shift subtly.  _ He was awake _ , Victor realised, sighing softly and letting his shoulders sag. Somehow, that was even worse…

“I thought you were sleeping.”

He padded softly round the edge of the bed to see Yuuri's face, to see the gentle features just before he slept.

He stopped in his tracks though as soon as he saw - Yuuri clearly had no intention of sleeping.

Yuuri’s eyes stared dead ahead - right through Victor - round and glittering, but not seeing anything. They looked blank, even if they were half filled with tears. He looked half dead. 

Victor found it terrifying.

“I can’t.” 

Those two words sounded harder to say than they should have been, voice monotone. It sent shivers down Victor’s spine.

Victor perched gently on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch Yuuri. He wasn’t sure how far into his head Yuuri was and knew he didn’t like to be touched sometimes, when his anxiety was bad. Victor had gotten better over time at reading Yuuri’s emotions, but this… he hadn’t seen Yuuri like this before. It wasn’t just anxiety. He wasn’t sure what it was…

_ … which meant that maybe it was- _

“Pre-wedding jitters?” 

_ Silence _ .

Victor tried to ignore the imaginary punch to his chest when Yuuri just blinked, eyes welling with tears again. It made the breath catch in his throat. “You know, Yuuri, we can always call off the weddi-”

“No!”

Yuuri pushed himself up at last, eyes swinging round to find Victor. They looked ready to overflow. 

“No,” he said with surprising force. “Victor, I - I mean, it’s not that...” Yuuri sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. His eyes dropped away from Victor’s, elbows bracing on his knees and head dropping low. “It could never be that. I  _ want  _ to marry you.”

“Then … what?”

Victor didn’t understand.

Yuuri opened his mouth. And closed it again. He did the same thing twice over before any words came out, brief and short for the time it took to find them. “I’m just upset.” 

It wasn’t enough for Victor. 

He edged closer on the bed. “But why?”

A haggard breath rattled through Yuuri - how could he explain that he honestly had no idea why he felt like this? Something heavy settled over his chest like it was smothering him and he tried to hone in on the subtle, yet crushing feeling to describe it to his husband-to-be. Only he couldn’t. The moment his mouth opened, so did the floodgates.

His face crumpled.

A hand slapped over his face to mask his messy sobs, but it was futile against Victor’s gently prising fingers.

“It’s just Canada,” he finally choked. 

_ It had to be. _

“You’re okay though, right?” Victor’s voice had a hard edge to it, slipping down to his knees to kneel in front of Yuuri, trying to catch his eye. “I thought you said the dizziness had gone?”

“Yeah, it has. And I’m fine, and you were brilliant, but… I just wish I could have skated too. I was so ready to skate against you.”

Victor didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t change the past.

Perhaps Yuuri sensed it too. “I’m fine.” he said again. “I just need to win. A win will pick me up.”

“So you still want to get married?”

“Yes.”

A small smile curved over Victor’s lips, cupping Yuuri’s cheek. “Not long to go.”

Yuuri forced back a stiff smile, feeling how plastic it felt on his face. 

“Not long,” he agreed.

_ Less than one week to go. _

Yuuri couldn’t quite wrap his head around it - in a week, he’d be married to the love of his life, the man he’d idolised since he was a teenager… only he didn’t feel anywhere near as excited about it as he knew he should.

Or worried, or nervous, or any of the other stuff he’d expected. He’d thought that with just days away, he would be a wreck - but in a totally different way! He’d thought he’d be panicking over his suit, or memorising his vows feverishly, or just being generally stressed and having anxiety attacks every other second, unable to take his mind off the life changing promises he and Victor were going to make to each other in just a matter of days…

Instead - as they both sank down to the bed and Victor slotted himself behind Yuuri, hugging his arms around his middle - Yuuri blinked, and all thoughts of the wedding left his head altogether.

_ Like he didn’t care. _

Lips pressed into the backs of Yuuri’s shoulder blades. 

“I can’t wait,” Victor whispered.

Yuuri forced a smile. Even in the dark, he knew Victor could somehow feel when he smiled or not. “Me too.”

It sounded fake, even to him.

What was wrong with him?


	3. Can't You See it's Killing Me

Yuuri felt like he was running on autopilot as the car rolled down the street, feeling every bump over a pot holed like a hammer to the skull. His head throbbed, eyes dull. He could hardly think straight, barely the concentration to cling onto a single thought long enough to finish it.

Beside him, Phichit was prattling on about something. What it was, Yuuri didn’t know; he could hear him, but he wasn’t listening.

He probably should be.

It was customary to listen to one’s best man on their wedding day.

Something was wrong. Yuuri had been feeling it the last few weeks, but now - today! - Yuuri was sure.

It was his wedding day… and he didn’t feel a thing.

He should be excited. He should be nervous, Phichit calming him down from freaking out and crying in his mother’s arms… instead, Phichit had dressed him like a doll and Yuuri had been dry eyed and plastic-smiling when his mother had wept visiting him in his suite that morning. It was nothing like he’d imagined. Like they had both imagined - he and Victor - planning their wedding.

A part of him was dreading seeing Victor - only it couldn’t be dread, because he didn’t feel it enough to really matter. It was part of the problem. How could he face Victor - knowing what today meant for him - and feel nothing?

It was going to be a long day.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri hummed his acknowledgement.

“You okay?” Phichit said, still just as bouncy and excited as usual. He hadn’t noticed a thing... “We’re here!”

Yuuri hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped...

He still wasn’t concentrating when he cracked the door open. His body moved on autopilot, sliding a leg out the car and hauling himself out. It felt harder than it should, his limbs heavy.

He hadn’t realised he’d underestimated how low the car door was until he bumped the top of his head against the doorframe.

“Ow.”

He’d thought he’d been quiet, muttered under his breath… the way Phichit was looking at him over the top of the car though told him he hadn’t.

And this time, Phichit was actually frowning. “You okay, Yuuri?”

There was the slightest hint of concern in his voice, the slightest pause that Yuuri didn’t like one bit. And the dreaded question - was he okay? If only he could possibly explain it…

But he couldn’t.

So he just straightened up and rubbed a hand through his hair. There was a mild twinge. He barely contained his wince.

“Yeah,” he forced his waxen cheeks to move into a smile. “Just knocked the door.”

He hoped Phichit wouldn’t press further. He wasn’t sure what he would say if he did, what he could possibly say...

A small grin just flickered over Phichit’s face over the car - it didn’t quite reach his eyes though. Maybe he knew better than to ask after all... 

“Trying to take yourself out before you’ve even seen Victor?” he winked, slamming his own door shut loud enough to make Yuuri’s eye twitch. “That’s not a good sign.” 

Yuuri just grimaced at that.

It wasn’t funny - not to him. Not much was, and that was part of the problem. His brain didn’t need any help spiralling into thoughts he didn’t want to linger on and Phichit - joking or not - wasn’t helping.

He still didn’t feel nervous, even as he stepped through the foyer of the manor house. He should feel nervous.

There was a dull feeling in the pit of his stomach and something laboured in his chest, but his usually jittery nerves -  _ poof _ ! Not there. It was even more unsettling than if they had been clawing at him. He understood his anxiety. His sudden lack of it was concerning.

For another day though...

Today, he had to get married.

He had a feeling that it would take every ounce of his energy and willpower to get through the day, without himself to worry about.

Yuuri even didn’t notice the elaborate flower arrangements that he and Victor had spent hours agonising over. He didn’t blink when Phichit fussed over him, brushing his shoulders and lapels one last time by the door. The next time he did blink though, he was already halfway down the aisle, music dull in his ears and knees stiff. Teary eyes were staring at him from either side. Delicately crushed flower petals lined a path to the altar.

The altar… Victor.

Yuuri looked up, head feeling like a lob of iron atop his shoulders. It took a moment for his eyes to focus.

Victor was a vision in white, his platinum hair shining gloriously in the sunlight streaming through the windows. His eyes were bright, laughter lines dipped into his cheeks from how broad his smile was. He was positively glowing.

Yuuri’s heart wrenched at the thought, and for one heart stopping moment, he prayed he hadn’t actually grimaced.

He didn’t want to grimace at his wedding, where Victor would see.

He didn’t want to ruin Victor’s day for anything.

His eyes were drawn to the small selection of pink and lavender tucked into Victor’s breast pocket - right by his heart. They were so small and delicate but Yuuri was willing to bet that Victor spent hours fiddling with them to get them to lay just right. The thought made his lips quirk, no matter how small.

Victor pressed a kiss to his cheek, beaming. It left Yuuri’s skin tingling. 

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this!” he whispered excitedly, taking Yuuri’s hand and squeezing.

Yuuri didn’t reply.

The officiant’s words washed over Yuuri meaninglessly. He’d had the order of service memorised a month ago. Now, Yuuri could tell what was going on. It was all a mindless garble of sound. 

Victor’s fingers tightened around his.

_ Maybe too tight, _ he thought with a wince, pins and needles pricking his fingertips. He flexed his hand in Victor’s grip. Chills shuddered through him. 

After a moment though, he frowned to himself.

_ Weird. _

The tingles didn’t go away.

Yuuri thanked whoever was above for muscle memory. He said his vows on instinct more than anything, words bouncing automatically to his tongue without a single bypass through his brain. Clearly, Yuuri’s body remembered what was happening just a fraction better than his brain. It wasn’t much - but it was enough. 

A wave of exhaustion hit him before he finished though, sudden and thick. He blinked hard, pressing his eyelids together firmly before snapping them open.

It didn’t help.

It was only then he heard his voice start to slur.

_ What? _

He sounded drunk, voice slow and thick - and nothing like himself. He was still frowning. After a moment, he noticed it hurt, pain digging sharp behind his forehead.

A blink, and suddenly he was looking at the officiant, his head lolling from the movement. He was frowning at him now too. The man’s mouth moved but no words came out - none that Yuuri could hear, in any case. They didn’t look like wedding vows though. He started to blur around the edges.

Yuuri’s breath hitched, his chest tight.

It was the last thing that Yuuri thought before his eyes rolled back in his head and the seizure hit him.

* * *

When he groaned himself awake, he knew in a heartbeat that he was in a hospital. He’d spent enough time in them and other medical facilities from skating and physiotherapy to just  _ know _ . He could feel it. He could smell it.

He scrunched his eyes tight and couldn’t stop the tiny whine that left his lips as a jolt of sharp pain shot through his temple. He softened his brow instead.

The pain dulled.

The pressure around his hand though, tightened.

“Yuuri?”

_ Victor _ .

Yuuri recognised him instantly, voice breathless and strained. With worry most likely, the memories slowly coming back to him. Or hurt. After what he’d done, a part of him was surprised Victor had even stuck around for him to wake up…

Yuuri wasn’t ready for the sight when he finally peeled his eyes open, jaw gritted tight against the throbbing in his head. 

Victor’s eyes were red rimmed from crying, eyelashes still glittering and lips pressed softly over where he clasped their hands together. Yuuri could feel the shudder in his breath. And he didn’t like the look in Victor’s eyes, sparkling with fear but warped with something darker, something more serious that Yuuri could see he was battling to stay in control of.

Victor wasn’t usually so serious...

Yuuri pushed himself up on his elbows but froze the second he pulled his head off the pillow, a wave of nausea and dizziness slamming into him. He didn’t bother hiding his grimace this time. He was already in trouble now anyway.

“You should probably stay still,” Victor said, straightening up from their entwined hands. He looks both deadly serious and terrified at the same time.

Yuuri wondered what he knew.

But then, of course, what else could it possibly be? He knew exactly what it was, head falling limply back against the pillows. He didn’t try and stop the pain that shot through his head as a result. He deserved it.

He fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “Are you mad at me?”

Victor gasped.

Yuuri felt it like a blow to the heart.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Victor’s head jerk up to him. He suddenly noticed just how white his husband was -  _ no _ , Yuuri corrected himself silently. Not his husband. He’d bitterly seen to that…

“What?” Victor just breathed.

Yuuri swallowed the lump in his throat. Victor was really going to make him say it… “I ruined our wedding,” he forced out, every word a barb to his chest. He pressed his eyes shut, a part of him relieved at the pain and the wetness of tears beading in his eyelashes. He hadn’t felt alive enough to cry before. “I’m so sorry, Victor. I don’t know-”

A hand clapped over his mouth, another smoothing clumsily along the side of his face. Yuuri’s eyes shot open, wide with shock.

Victor was leaning over him, fire blazing in his eyes.

Yuuri noticed how his hands trembled.

“I don’t care about that,” Victor all but hissed over him, voice barely holding steady. “Do you have any idea how scared I was when you-when you just-” 

His hand jerked away.

It slapped over his own mouth instead as he straightened up, hiding his quivering lip and pressing his eyes shut as he turned away. He sucked in shaky breaths, shoulders bobbing.

Yuuri just stared, wide eyed. Something dark and terrified curled in his gut - he’d never seen Victor like that, never so scared…

“I’ve been talking with the doctors,” Victor said through his fingers. His eyes were still shut. “They, um, t-they think...”

The door opened, saving him. 

The doctor’s eyes flashed when they saw Yuuri awake in bed, staring back at him, but the poker face was back in a jiff. It only made Yuuri more nervous, wondering what he could possibly be thinking behind that mask.

“Mr Katsuki,” he droned as he rounded the end of the bed, voice monotone and unreadable. “How do you feel?”

It was a simple question… 

...but it took Yuuri too long to think about it, his brow knitting together. He ignored the twinge behind his eyes.

“Tired,” he finally said, tongue heavy like a ball of cotton in his mouth. “Fine.”

The doctor’s head tilted to the side slightly, eyes sharp. “Any headaches? Vision problems? Ringing in the ears?”

“Um,” Yuuri blinked. White dots danced behind his eyes. “Sorry, what was the first thing again?”

That seemed to answer the doctor’s question.

“Ever had a seizure before, Mr Katsuki?”

Was that what had happened? Yuuri couldn’t remember. All he remembered was the gut wrenching nausea and the world spinning.

The thought left Yuuri a little breathless.

“No.”

The doctor wrote something on the chart on the end of the bed, glancing up at Yuuri. “Anything out of the ordinary happen today that could have triggered it?”

“I, um...” 

Yuuri couldn’t think.

His frown deepened. There had been something important - something  _ very  _ important… but the more he thought, the more his head just buzzed.

“Mr Katsuki?”

The buzzing got thicker. “I …” Yuuri’s breath hitched. “I can’t remember.”

Beside the bed, Victor finally cleared his throat.

“Phichit said,” he started slowly. He still didn’t look up, Yuuri noticed. “That you hit your head on the car this morning.”

Yuuri thought for an extra second.

_ Yeah... _ he vaguely remembered that, the annoying start to his day that had tipped his headache to mind boggling levels. But he also remembered that it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t even a hit - nothing that would even bruise! It had been nothing more than a tap...

“It was just a bump,” he shrugged. “It was nothing.”

It wasn’t like he’d knocked himself out on the sidewalk…

The doctor flipped a page in his chart.

“I see from your medical records you’ve suffered two head injuries in the last three weeks,” his eyes peeked up again, eyebrows raised. “Now three. Is that correct?”

Yuuri started to shake his head before he remembered that it hurt. “The car wasn’t a concussion, it was just-”

“If the brain is still healing from the last injury, even a bump on a car door can have serious consequences.”

Yuuri’s eyes shot up to the doctor.

“If the brain suffers a second concussion before the first one has healed, the brain swells, blood flow is altered, further brain damage occurs…”

“Sorry, you… you think I have brain damage?”

“You’ve suffered three blows to the head in three weeks. The brain can only take so much, Mr Katsuki. I would highly recommend abstaining from any dangerous activity or extreme sports until you have allowed your brain proper time to heal. This is usually three to six months.”

“That’s not possible. I’m a figure skater. It’s mid season. I have a competition soon.”

“If you sustain another blow to the head, you are at extremely high risk of causing irreparable damage to the brain. This may be permanent. In some cases, fatal.”

Yuuri stilled at that. Fatal. Like he could die? No, he couldn’t die. He was twenty-five. A few knocks to the head might confuse him, but it couldn’t kill him… could it?

Beside him, Victor looked ashen.

“Yuuri…”

He didn’t have to say it.

Yuuri swallowed hard. “You’re saying I have to retire.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I recommend six months off the ice minimum, probably a year-”

“I don’t have a year to take off! I’m twenty-five. A break like that now…” It would be the end of his career. 

It would be over.

The thought should be terrifying. Horrifying. And it was! - so why was Yuuri so calm? He was being told that his career was over if he wanted to live, and yet he wasn’t even breathing fast. His breaths stayed calm, his chest level. He should be panicking. It was his thing - he  _ always  _ panicked! But now… the doctor could have read him his shopping list rather than break some potentially life threatening news and Yuuri’s reaction would have been the same. It was even more alarming than the doctor’s diagnosis - because it meant that it was true.

A frown dug into Yuuri’s brow and he felt upset, jaw gritting tight. But not at the diagnosis - at himself. Why didn’t he  _ care? _

He ran a hand through his hair instead, remembering the motion more than acting on instinct. He should be beside himself, pulling his hair at the roots and crying for what he was losing and for the danger. 

The most he felt was a stab of annoyance as his headache worsened.

He was still frustrated at his lack of frustration when he was released, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about the stone silence between him and Victor as they made their way back to the apartment. Neither of them said a word as they got ready for bed.

A part of Yuuri regretted having Makkachin stay with Yakov over their wedding weekend. Victor would need his best friend now. And honestly, Yuuri didn’t want to be the focus of Victor’s attention right then. He wanted to be left alone.

He didn’t think he’d get his wish.

It still didn’t feel quite real. The idea that one more knock to the head - even a bump - could kill him. Maybe he was still in shock, he reasoned to himself. But no, he’d felt like this even before the seizure, before he’d been given the news.

He lay down tentatively in the bed like the pillow might suddenly leap up and thwack him. Pain wasn’t a problem for him. Pain was temporary. He didn’t mind pain. It never crossed his mind that more damage could be working behind the surface though, let alone damage that could prove  _ fatal _ ...

He didn’t have a choice.

Victor was still moving robotically, still in shock. Yuuri couldn’t blame him. He’d started his day expecting to be married and instead he’d been told that another fall on the ice could kill the love of his life. They’d been lucky it wasn’t today. No wonder he was shocked. 

Yuuri didn’t know what to do when Victor laid down beside him, a noticeable gap between them and Victor staring bolt up at the ceiling.

Yuuri wished he could feel something.

He  _ should  _ feel something. 

He should be devastated. He should feel guilty for putting Victor through this, for making him so scared. It should be the worst day of his life and it should  _ feel _ like it. Instead though, Yuuri’s heart was steady as a drum, his eyes dry.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

His arm felt stiff and awkward as he slowly opened it on Victor’s side, not daring to say anything. Thankfully, he didn’t have to - Victor sniffed and turned into his embrace wordlessly, avoiding Yuuri’s eye. Yuuri didn’t take it personally. Especially when Victor’s arms tightened in a vice like grip around his waist. Especially when he felt the dampness darken the front of his shirt from beneath Victor’s hidden face.

Yuuri’s lip trembled unexpectedly.

_ Oh _ ...

_ Now _ , he felt something.


	4. I Don't Want Your Sympathy

Yuuri announced his retirement from competitive skating in December.

He felt sick as he listened to Victor read out their statement, the press sat silent before them all listening to the subtle quake in Victor’s voice. Better his than Yuuri’s though. Yuuri hadn’t been able to bring himself to read it, the words too stuck in his throat to come out.

"I am heartbroken that my competitive skating career is coming to an end before I was ready, but I hope to stay involved in the sport that I love through my husband, Victor...”

It wasn’t a total shock.

Rumours had been swirling for weeks - ever since Yuuri had been formally taken off of the Japan Team and cancelled his planned off season ice dance events. This was just the final nail in the coffin, the final seal. It made everything so real. Once the words were out, they wouldn’t be able to take them back.

"While I focus on regaining my health, I will continue to support Victor and work on my Russian. Hopefully, one day I will return to the ice to skate and coach.”

Yuuri hadn’t drafted the statement.

He didn’t think Victor had either, probably a publicist responsible for the piece of paper Victor was reading from. It still hurt though, every word driving the reality home a little harder than the one before it.

Yuuri was over.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri watched Victor’s elegant fingers fold up the paper. 

“Thank you for your time,” Victor said stiffly, clearing his throat. “We will not be taking any questions. Thank you.”

Yuuri didn’t remember leaving the press conference. He remembered the explosion of shouted questions as he and Victor had stood, remembered that it felt too easy to ignore them and then the next thing he knew, he was sat in the stands of the Grand Prix final a week later. The time in between had melted into nothing.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened.

Memories seemed to slip through his fingers like sand since his seizure, thoughts going in one ear and out the other as quick as he could blink sometimes. 

Sometimes he could hold onto them, make himself remember if he really wanted to - but it  _ hurt _ . He often gave up, settling for living in a droll blur of a life. It was all running away from him. And yet when he was in the moment, the seconds seemed to drag like they were stuck in quicksand, the day before him a never ending black hole. He couldn’t escape, until the time passed and suddenly it was like it had never happened at all.

He wouldn’t have been able to say for certain what Victor had done in all that time either. Yuuri felt like he barely spoke to the Russian anymore, too busy staring at nothing and getting lost in the quiet buzzing of his own head. Most days his head felt too heavy to lift and turn to Victor. Yuuri wasn’t sure he could even remind himself what Victor’s voice sounded like anymore. They didn’t talk.

It should have been a problem. It should have been heartbreaking.

Yuuri felt nothing.

Maybe that was one more reason Victor had suggested they go to the Grand Prix Final. Not just to support their friends, not just to show that they were well despite Yuuri’s sudden and vague retirement, not just as fans - but because maybe Victor was fed up of being lonely with his fiancee right next to him. Maybe he needed the distraction.

Yuuri could hardly blame him for it after all he’d put Victor through the last few weeks, still unable to look him in the eye. A part of him was surprised that Victor was still with him.

He shouldn’t be there after all - he should be on the ice below, skating. It was supposed to be his comeback, him taking the world by storm all over again. Even if Yuuri was out, Victor shouldn’t be. He belonged on the ice. As soon as they’d accepted that Yuuri wouldn’t be able to compete though, it hadn’t even been a discussion - Victor had submitted his withdrawal right alongside Yuuri’s. Yuuri hadn’t asked him why. He knew why, and it hurt too much to linger on.

That was what hurt the most. His own dreams and hopes had shattered and that was bad enough - but destroying Victor’s dreams? That was unacceptable. That was too much to bear.

He felt Victor move beside him, felt the subtle shift and heard the rustle of his jacket as Victor waved an arm to the crowds around them. A cheer answered. There must be a camera on them, Yuuri guessed. He waited for the moment to pass before he dared finally find the will to lift his head.

It was harder than he’d anticipated.

He didn’t want to be there - he wanted to be at home. Where there were no bright lights, no loud noises, no plethora of things that made his head hurt and stomach churn. He just wanted to be home and go to sleep, to pretend like it was all a bad dream. 

He recognised Phichit’s outfit in a heartbeat as a figure whizzed out on the ice. His heart clenched - it hurt more than he expected it to, punching a gasp from his lips.

_ He should be on that ice. _

He was shocked at himself when he didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel broken, or miserable, or mourning. 

No, what he felt - front, and bold, and center - was  _ rage _ .

His hands curled into fists at his side, jaw clenching and feeling the tightness in his chest that burned hot and fierce. His nails dug into his palms. He felt like he was going to be sick, so wrecked with anger he could hardly contain it. He’d been  _ robbed _ .

He pushed up to his feet, hardly sparing Victor a backward glance as he slipped around him to get to the aisle.

“I can’t do this,” he hissed as he passed. 

He didn’t look back.

Victor joined him in the hotel room hours later and eyes significantly redder than before. 

* * *

“I don’t know what I can do to help you, Yuuri,” Victor finally broke the silence over breakfast the next morning, his voice low and dark. “I don’t know what you want.”

Yuuri clenched his jaw tighter, refusing to look up. “I don’t know either.”

He really didn’t.

He had no idea how to cope with what was happening or how to make it better. He longed for skating, but it hurt to be so close and unable to touch it. He knew he should see his friends, but they were just a reminder of a life now taken from him. He knew at the very least he should take a walk and get some exercise, but at the same time the bright winter sunlight hurt his eyes and he just… didn’t want to move. At all.

He was damned whatever he did, and he didn’t know what was for the better. Each option seemed to leave him the same - frustrated and angry, at nothing in particular and everything at the same time.

It was confusing.

Yuuri didn’t know what to do.

After a silent beat, he heard Victor swallow thickly across the table. “Would you like me to go?”

“No…”

Yuuri’s voice sounded dreamy.  _ Hardly convincing _ , he thought snarkily in his head. 

Regardless, he was sure of that at least. He didn’t want to go. He may not want to talk, or cuddle, or do anything really, but he knew that being alone would be worse. The world would be darker, colder, even more bleak than it was already without Victor’s reassuring presence constantly hovering beside him, reminding him that at least he wasn’t truly alone no matter how much he felt it.

“D-do you-” Victor choked on a breath, and Yuuri clenched his hand under the table to stop himself from looking up. “Do you still love me?”

Yuuri’s heart leapt at the bolt of shock that ran through him.

He was almost too surprised at his own lively reaction to remember what Victor had said, forcing his fiancee’s words back to the forefront of his mind as he snapped his head up. He ignored the head ache. It wasn’t hard to do with the way Victor’s diamond hard eyes levelled with him. 

He was guarding himself. He was braced for bad news. Oh God, Victor was preparing himself for Yuuri to break up with him.

Yuuri felt sick again.

“Of  _ course  _ I do,” Yuuri said with more force than he’d intended, wishing he could reach out and take Victor’s hand, squeeze his fingers tight until there was no doubt left. His arms stayed dead at his sides though, too numb to move. 

At least, he was  _ pretty _ sure that he still loved Victor. Deep down. Maybe  _ deep,  _ deep down, but he trusted that it was still there even if he didn’t technically feel much from it anymore. He didn’t feel the same longing for contact like he once had, they hardly spoke, Yuuri barely looked at the man he had been supposed to marry just nearly a month ago… but he  _ remembered _ what it felt like loving Victor. And he knew that he didn’t want him to go. For now, that had to be enough. 

Across the table, Victor nodded, his head bowed. Yuuri didn’t know what he was thinking. He wished he could at least have the decency to feel nervous about it - but he didn’t…

“Do you still want to get married?”

The question was sudden, unexpected - Yuuri didn’t hesitate in his answer though. “Yes,” he said without missing a beat.

He’d wanted it before. He should still want it now, even if he couldn’t feel it, even if all he could do was remember it…

A small smile tugged on Victor’s lips. 

“Okay,” he said, eyes softening a fraction. He still looked far away though, Yuuri not sure what to make of the slightly wistful look on his face.

Yuuri let his gaze fall, a comfortable silence falling between them.

He didn’t deserve Victor’s patience, he knew. He’d robbed the man of his wedding day, of his big career comeback, of even basic human company while Yuuri found it hard to say anything that wasn’t monosyllabic anymore. Anybody else would have thrown in the towel long ago. But Victor was still there, quiet and patient, waiting for him. 

Yuuri heard Victor chuckle quietly to himself. “Get dressed into something smart and meet me in the lobby in half an hour.”

“What?”

Yuuri frowned, head snapping up at the sound of Victor’s chair pulling back - but he winced as a jolt of pain shot through his temple, pinching his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Victor was gone.

* * *

Yuuri didn’t find Victor in their room when he finally left the breakfast table, feeling confused and dizzy. And afraid. Why did Victor need him dressed smart? All Yuuri could think of was that Victor was dragging him to some gala or social event, maybe to show Yuuri that his career didn’t have to be over in the skating world just because he was off the ice - which Yuuri knew, but wasn’t ready to face just yet. He needed more time, time to accept his fate.

He felt numb as he got dressed, pulling on a crisp white shirt and looping a tie around his neck. His blood pounded in his ears as he pulled himself together, fighting the urge to sigh and slump.

He didn’t want to go out.

He wanted to stay in the hotel room and go back to sleep.

But before he knew it, his half an hour was up and he knew that Victor would be waiting for him downstairs in the lobby. He couldn’t disappoint Victor again. He couldn’t keep pressing his luck.

Pressing his eyes shut, he finally let out the sigh he’d been holding in, enjoying the silence for just one more minute before he left. 

_ One minute late. _

Victor would be checking his watch.

Yuuri peeled his eyes open and forced himself to leave.

* * *

Victor’s long trench coat hid most of his outfit from view when Yuuri joined him in the lobby -  _ six minutes late _ \- but he still spotted his smart shoes and the knot of his favourite plum purple tie.

He smiled when he saw Yuuri, so bright that it threw Yuuri off for a moment - he didn’t deserve such a reaction after keeping Victor waiting.

He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t stop.

And as soon as Yuuri was in reach, Victor linked their arms together and steered them towards the front door with a fond squeeze. 

“We have a train to catch.”

* * *

The hour and a half’s train journey was relatively silent, but not the stifling kind. Yuuri found his drowsy mind wandering as the buildings flittered past the window, the quiet rumble of the train somehow soothing. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Yet on that train carriage he felt like was lulled into an upright coma, feeling strangely rested by the time Victor stood for their stop and offered down his hand.

The town they stepped out into was nothing like Paris. It was quieter, the streets calm and tranquil, with people going happily about their business like there was no rush in the world. It was peaceful. 

Somehow, Yuuri felt like he could breathe a little bit deeper already just from being there…

There was a nostalgic smile on Victor’s face. 

“My mother grew up here,” he said before Yuuri had to ask, his eyes distant and lost in memory. “I was born here. Just…” Victor leaned his shoulder into Yuuri’s, arm pointing down the street. “Over there. Before my father moved us to Russia.”

They walked with slow, lazy steps, Victor swinging Yuuri’s hand carefree in his despite Yuuri not saying anything back. Yuuri just wished he was in a better mind to enjoy it...

As it was though, every step felt like he was running a mile. 

It wasn’t until Victor led him to an elegant old fashioned building with large French flags over the doorway that Yuuri suddenly  _ remembered _ . 

He gasped, frozen where he stood.

Victor paused too, a step ahead of him. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri couldn’t stop staring though, heart beating with the sway of the flags in the gentle breeze. His stomach flittered with butterflies.

“I’d forgotten…”

They had planned to honeymoon in France after their wedding. The country Victor loved beside his own, the country his mother was from - the fact that the Grand Prix Final would be held there too around the same time had been an ideal coincidence. He’d promised to show Yuuri the town where he was from.

And it was Yuuri who had come up with the crazy idea that maybe they could have a service there too, for Victor’s lost mother, in her hometown…

His hand tightened around Victor’s. “ _ Victor…” _

His chest hurt, ribs caging in on his lungs like blunt needles against a full balloon, just waiting to pop. 

Victor stepped forward, facing Yuuri fully. His hand cupped Yuuri’s cheek. “Do you not want to?”

Yuuri couldn’t breathe. His chest was tight but he didn’t care to rasp for breath like he usually would, enjoying the moment, embracing just  _ feeling _ something. His hand reached up, resting over his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so  _ alive _ . 

And in that moment, he knew. 

“I do,” he breathed. “I really do.”

The smile Victor gave him was blinding. 

* * *

It was a tiny ceremony. 

Victor rustled people from the local bakery and some others that had been waiting in the mairie reception to be their witnesses, translating the service quietly into English for Yuuri when their appointment slot finally arrived. It was so quiet.

It was so peaceful. 

Yuuri didn’t have a single nerve as he slid the ring onto Victor’s finger and signed his name on the dotted line, his heartbeat steady and sure.

For once though, he knew it wasn’t his head injury’s apathy that was keeping him so calm - it was just what he wanted, and he was finally getting it. All he wanted was Victor. The man he’d loved for longer than he could reasonably remember, the man who had built him up, and who had stood by him unwavering at his lowest. He would be an idiot to pass up the chance to marry Victor Nikiforov.

The modest round of applause when he leaned in and sealed his new husband with a kiss was perfect, just dull enough not to aggravate Yuuri’s pin pricking headache.

“I love you,” Yuuri sighed against Victor’s lips, his husband’s -  _ husband!! -  _ hands cradling his face. Yuuri could feel the warm metal of his ring against his skin. “I love you so much.”

* * *

They had a modest honeymoon back in Russia, keen to be back home after so long away. And they missed Makkachin.

They made it up to her by taking her to the beach every day, letting run wild over the sands, not complaining when she got it all in her fur, and laughing when she picked fights with the crashing waves. Their arms were open wide when she inevitably retreated from the icy waters, bolting back to her owners for a treat. 

For the first time in a long time, Yuuri started to feel … happy. Existing started to feel easier.

There was a soft smile on his lips when he kissed his husband awake in the morning, his headaches all but vanished, and he started to feel some of his old energy return.

Even so much that he decided to book a slot for himself down at the local dance studio for a few hours. 

If he couldn’t skate, the least he could do was dance.

For the first twenty minutes, all Yuuri could do was sit there and think. The quiet was relaxing. The solitude was … weird. It didn’t take him long to realise that he hadn’t been alone - really alone - for a long time. Victor was almost always there in some form or another. He’d been glued to Yuuri’s side after his accident, convinced that Yuuri would slip or fall and knock his head again in a way that would prove disastrous. 

It sent chills down Yuuri’s spine being alone and with his thoughts. For once, he was actually  _ thinking _ again.

His next thought when he finally pulled himself to his feet was that dancing was harder than he remembered it to be. It didn't take him long to feel his months off the ice, those too many days of just lying in bed catching up to him at last. All too quickly he felt tired. He itched to just sit down and catch his breath, but the ache in his limbs drove him on. He wanted to feel more of that. He might actually sleep well that night if he did.

He didn’t feel the usual freedom he used to feel when he danced. It was more of a chore now. Still, it was exercise. He needed exercise. It would be good for him.

That was what he kept telling himself as his legs started to tremble beneath him, as he felt the extra weight throwing off his balance when he pushed into a pirouette. It felt harder. It felt like he was thicker to thrown around than before, pushing himself into another spin, and then another, and then another - as if he could somehow spin his body back into shape, whip his extra flap into oblivion lik-

A knock pulled him out of his head.

“Excuse me?” a voice said in Russian.

Yuuri’s slow mind barely translated it as he stumbled to a stop, whipping round to the door. His eyes dazed from spinning so much, the woman in front of him swaying a little.

“I believe we have the room booked?”

Yuuri blinked dumbly.

Then his eyes lifted to the clock above the door, squinting. He’d overran his time.  _ Shit. _

His face was burning as it dropped down to the woman again, suddenly noticing the flood of small children behind her in tights and leotards. It only made him feel worse. He bet those kids loved their dance class - if the fact they were already spinning around the corridor behind their instructor with their arms up high was anything to go by! - and he’d wasted their precious lesson time.

Yuuri brushed his sweaty hair back from his eyes, feeling his shoulders sag with disappointment. “I’ll, um-”

“How did you do that?” 

Yuuri had barely blinked before one of the little boys had forced his way through his friends, staring up at Yuuri with big, round eyes. He looked absolutely enthralled. 

“What?” Yuuri just blinked. He barely remembered the word.

“The turn-y thing!” 

Yuuri watched as the boy lifted his arms and span on the spot, jumping up on one leg and almost instantly losing his balance. If his teacher hadn’t caught him, he would have smacked into the floor not even a quarter of the way round.

Yuuri frowned, trying to remember what he’d been doing. “You mean a pirouette? Um-” He stepped back a few steps. “This?”

He took his stance and pushed off into a slow graceful pirouette, his question answered by the boy’s glowing eyes before his free foot even touched ground again. 

The boy wasn’t the only one who liked it - Yuuri staggering back a step in surprise as the kids flocked past their teacher, all barking questions at him with big smiles and bug-eyes. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected any of this, just wanting to get some quiet time for himself, some time to refocus his mind and feel a little more  _ normal _ again…

The first boy squinted, paused… and then his eyes went round like saucers. “Are you… are you Yuuri Katsuki?!”

Yeah, Yuuri wasn’t going to get  _ normal _ anytime soon...

* * *

“Turn your leg out a little more - that’s it!”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what had happened. One minute, he’d been ready to run home in a panic for overrunning his studio time and then the next … the next he was teaching kids ballet. 

Their actual teacher was smirking on from the side lines, watching Yuuri try to control the rabble. They were all so excited. It turned out that a lot of them were skating fans, positively star struck to find  _ the  _ Yuuri Katsuki at their studio and then refusing to let him leave quietly. They wanted him to teach them how to pirouette.

And Yuuri hadn’t figured out how to escape politely just yet…

In fairness, he wasn’t  _ not _ enjoying himself - he just didn’t know what he was doing. It seemed to take all his effort just to get the kids standing still long enough to listen to what he had to say before they were spinning, and twirling, and just ...having fun.

He ended up staying behind long enough that Victor came by the studio to find him when he didn’t come back home on time. It took Yuuri too long to finally notice his husband leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Then the kids  _ really _ went wild.

“You’re really good with them, you know,” Victor said later that evening, that soft smile still not quite faded. 

Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d worked out what it meant yet… 

“Hm?”

“The children,” Victor just clarified with a chuckle, snuggling up closer to Yuuri on the couch and slinging an arm over Yuuri’s middle. “They loved you.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that. 

Had the kids really loved him? Or had they just loved the fact that they were just meeting someone famous? Yuuri wasn’t sure. He’d struggled to keep their attention. Not one of them had been able to do a steady spin by the time he’d left. He felt more exhausted from standing around trying to organise them than he had from his actual workout…

Victor was looking up at him expectantly, his eyes bright. “Have you ever thought about teaching?”

Yuuri tipped his head back against the arm of the couch.

Of course, he had  _ thought  _ about it. He’d always imagined he’d end up following Minako in some shape or form, staying in the sport to help teach the next generation as a lot of skaters did. 

But he’d always imagined he’d be doing it after giving up a long, fulfilling career after he’d decided to retire of his own accord, because it was time - not because he’d been forced out on a devastating injury. It wasn’t what he’d thought. Now, it was painful to think about.

A lump caught in his throat.

“I’ll think about it again.”

* * *

_

They couldn’t live in their little bubble forever. 

Sooner or later, they had to face reality and for Yuuri and Victor, that meant two different things. Victor had to go back to training.

And Yuuri couldn’t. 

The first day, Yuuri stayed at home. He closed the curtains, lay on the couch and waited for Victor to come home, staring blankly at the ceiling until he heard the front door crack open again. He hadn’t bothered to eat anything. He hadn’t even moved when Makka had nudged his hand every now and then, trying to stir a reaction out of him.

He should have told Victor about it. It was the exact same depression that had nearly ruined him before their honeymoon, that had nearly made things unravel completely…

Instead, when Victor asked how his day was, Yuuri just smiled dully and said ‘good’, hoping that Victor was too tired to notice any different.

Victor hadn’t said anything of it - to his face, at least.

But a few days later, when Yuuri got a call from Yakov to help him manage with the junior skating classes, Yuuri had his suspicions. 

His gut instinct was to refuse. To stay at home and wallow out of spite, to somehow throw it back in Victor’s face that he didn’t want his charity while his husband was training to make the history that Yuuri never could. The anger had boiled inside him so hot that sometimes it took everything in him to look at Victor and not just  _ despise  _ him - for skating, for trying to make things better - Yuuri didn’t know anymore!

All he knew was that when it came down to it, the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him tell Yakov to stick his job where the sun didn’t shine like a part of him wanted to.

He whimpered his yes.

Because he so desperately missed that rink. He missed the soothing chill, and the perfect glitter of the smooth ice, the melodic sound of blades carving a path through the surface… and his pride needed a valid excuse to reason him going back there again. 

And in a way, going back for the first time with Yakov instead of Victor probably helped make it easier. With Yakov, Yuuri couldn’t break down into the tears he felt burning in the back of his eyes when he first saw the ice again after  _ months  _ away.

Instead, he just tightened his ice shoes, swallowed the lump in his throat and put on a brave face for the children.

The kids were tiny, smaller than Yuuri had expected. But in a way, that was better. It probably hurt less watching them learn how to skate in a circle than it did to watch a teenager do a jump that Yuuri remembered doing himself once. One that he would never do again. No, smaller was better. 

He let Yakov tell him what to do. Honestly, Yuuri didn’t have a clue how to start teaching these kids and he was more than happy to let Yakov take the lead, just standing by as a guiding hand some days. That was fine. 

He was fine.

He was just glad to get some routine back in his life, some version of reliable normality. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

And some days, he genuinely enjoyed it. His heart warmed when a kid  _ beamed _ when they mastered that spin without falling, when their fingers tightened around his as he helped pull them to their feet when they did, when he saw the determined flush on their cheeks when they concentrated so hard to  _ get it right. _ It reminded him of what he’d been like as a child.

Before everything had gone wrong.

For a while, everything was okay. Yuuri slowly started to get used to his new normal. Some small part of him was even starting to look forward to his days, already thinking about what he could show the kids tomorrow, in a week, how far they’d have come in a month. He wondered if Yakov would let him show them what he’d enjoyed skating the most at that age. 

Everything was fine.

Until Victor shattered the peace.

“You haven’t come to practise yet,” he brought up quietly over dinner one day, his blue eyes dull and low.

Yuuri’s jaw tightened.  _ His practise _ , he corrected silently in his head. It hurt too much to still think of it as  _ theirs _ .

“You want me to?” was all he said aloud, voice stiff.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Victor’s head lift slightly. “I thought you’d want to.”

Yuuri pressed his eyes shut at that.

He loved Victor. He really did, but sometimes… sometimes Victor made it  _ hard _ to love him. Like then. Saying things like that, oblivious to how painful they were, how ignorant they sounded. In those moments, it took everything in Yuuri not to lash out, to throw out poisonous words that he could never take back just to hurt Victor as much as he was hurting him.

Because how could Victor not realise? How could he not understand that it was simply too much for Yuuri?

It was so selfish.

Yuuri didn’t say anything, not trusting the words that would come out of his mouth. He hoped Victor would drop it. He hoped he would let it go…

...of course, he didn’t though.

“Perhaps you should,” Victor pressed on anyway. “I know Yakov wants to mentor you as a coach. You could take over from him one day if you tried.”

_ A coach. _

Victor made it sound so easy. To him, it probably was. He’d dropped his life and flown across the world to be Yuuri’s coach years ago. To him, it probably really was just that simple. 

It wasn’t simple for Yuuri.

He set his fork down, not daring to look in Victor’s eye as he pushed himself away from the dining table. 

He needed to leave.

He wondered if Victor noticed his curled fists as he walked away, if he heard the quiet gasps as Yuuri battled to keep the anguish in his chest under control. He didn’t want to cry.  _ He didn’t want to cry. _

Above all though, he didn’t want to coach - he wanted to skate.


	5. Knock Me Down, I'll Keep on Moving

No matter how much it hurt being in the rink and not being able to actually skate, Yuuri knew it was unacceptable to not support his own husband at competitions.

By the time Four Continents rolled around, the pain was still raw. Yuuri’s heart still clenched when he stood on the sidelines beside Yakov, knowing that he should be on the other side of the barrier too, that he should be in a costume instead of jeans, that he should be warming up too instead of just staring blankly at the open ice behind Victor.

He was pathetic, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t even bring himself to smile when Victor cupped his cheek before skating away to a roaring cheer from the crowd.

But he couldn’t not come.

The Grand Prix had been one thing, but now Victor was skating again. He had to support him, no matter how much it was eating him up on the inside.

_ He _ should be skating too.

Sometimes Yuuri wished that he had  _ really  _ hurt himself - not just an invisible head injury. If he’d twisted a knee or snapped an ankle, maybe it would be easier to accept that it was over. Instead, he was left feeling fine, with nothing to physically prove to him that he had done everything he could and he had to accept his fate.

He wasn’t accepting it at all.

Keeping himself busy wasn’t helping as much as he’d thought it would. It distracted him for those short hours that he was with the children, sure, but then the kids went home. Then Yuuri was alone with his thoughts again, and they always went straight back to one place.

The ice.

Luckily, it was exactly where Yakov pointed to after he roughly knocked Yuuri’s shoulder. 

“I want you to have three things for him to work on by the time he gets his scores,” the coach gruffed. That was one thing Yuuri was grateful for - Yakov never changed. He never spoke patronising softly to him like everyone else did, wasn’t afraid to touch him like even Victor was sometimes, like he’d flake away like wet tissue. Yakov was a strong constant, treating him exactly the same.

But Yuuri knew exactly what he was doing, and he simply wasn’t interested. Teaching the kids was one thing - training to take over as Victor’s coach was another entirely. 

It would be admitting defeat for good, even if even Yakov wouldn’t say it in so many words. 

Victor’s twirling form blurred on the ice.

Yuuri didn’t want to analyse his speed, or rhythm, or technicality. He just wanted to be out there too, skating. He missed the rush of the air on his face and the chill rising from the ice beneath him, the adrenaline rush when he landed a jump and the sheer serenity when his spin turned  _ just right _ and it was like the rest of the world dropped away...

Then he blinked, and Victor was skating back to the barriers again, arm raised to the crowd and a broad smile on his face.

Yuuri had missed it.  _ Shit _ .

Shame burned hot on the back of his neck as he felt Yakov’s glare but heard no questioning about his suggestions - he  _ knew. _ For the first time in a long time, Yuuri felt real embarrassment, gut churning sickeningly. He’d had a simple job from a man just trying to help, and he couldn’t even do that. He hadn’t been able to watch his own husband skate without getting sucked back into his own head. 

He shuffled behind them as they made their way to the Kiss and Cry, pressing Victor a stiff smile as he beamed back at him. Yuuri hoped he did well. A gold medal would take the edge of his husband not being interested enough to watch.

Yuuri hung back as Victor got his scores, just outside of the camera's reach. He’d already done enough, he didn’t want to take any more away from Victor’s moment.

He heard the crowd roar.

He watched Victor dive in to hug Yakov.

Yuuri couldn’t see the scores, but he knew they were good. Maybe not great, since Yakov’s scowl was still a fraction too deep - but Victor was pushing thirty and had taken a year off, so the fact he was competing on the world stage again alone was still incredible, regardless of the score. 

Yuuri forced himself to smile when Victor left the Kiss and Cry and caught him, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. 

It took everything in Yuuri not to wince.

“I wish you could have been out there with me,” Victor whispered into Yuuri’s ear, lips grazing his skin.

Yuuri felt it like a slap in the face. 

He went rock solid in Victor’s arms, feeling his face drain of colour and the breath catch in his throat. Had… had Victor  _ really _ just said that?! Yuuri felt his jaw fall open, his body going numb. He was helpless as Victor pulled back - oblivious! - and guided Yuuri along with him and Yakov down the barrier, away from the Kiss and Cry. 

Yuuri could do little but stumble after him, feeling sick. 

Victor had really just said that to him. The one thing that could possibly hurt Yuuri the most, the one thing he knew that Yuuri had dreamed of for longer than he could remember, that had been ripped away from him - and he had  _ said it  _ so flippantly, so casually rubbing salt in the wound. 

Yuuri felt like he could barely breathe, the words rolling over and over again in his head, mockingly.

He wished he could have been out there too - but that was a future that had been denied to him.

His head was swimming as he bumped to a stop, walking in a daze into the back of Victor’s shoulder. He heard Victor’s chuckle like it was through water. It made his heart squeeze and his eyes burn.

He thought he’d be alright. He thought he was okay to be around the rink again. He didn’t feel numb and cold like he had done just after his accident. He wanted to find something again, to be something, to  _ feel  _ something...but feeling the ache claw at his heart, he almost wished the numbness would come back. He didn’t want to it hurt either.

And god, it was agony…

Yuuri could hear Victor’s voice - his media voice - careful, and polite, and exact, choosing every word with intent.

“I’m happy with silver,” Yuuri heard him say through the haze. “It’s been a tough season and just happy to get back out there and finish in a good place for next year.”

_ Silver. _

Victor got silver.

Silver was good - not the envied gold that Victor had always been all but expected to get in the past - but it was nothing to scoff at after a year off, way past the average retirement age for most skaters. He could have gotten gold. If he hadn’t skipped the Grand Prix and missed so much training after their wedding, Victor could have won the gold.

A bitter part of Yuuri was glad that he hadn’t though, hands curling into tight fists at his sides as something white hot bubbled up inside him. Victor didn’t deserve it. After what he said, a cruel part of Yuuri didn’t want Victor to ever get to touch a gold medal again. 

He should have won it, he couldn’t help but think. If he’d been skating, he would have won the gold to Victor’s silver.

It should have been him…

It was a reporter, Yuuri suddenly realised as he glanced up with a subtle gasp, the thought sending a bolt through him that snapped his eyes up again - right into the reporter’s recorder. The man’s eyes were on  _ him _ now.

“How’s the recovery going?”

Yuuri vaguely remembered this one. He was young, relatively new on the scene - but nice. He spoke softer than most reporters did, a kind smile usually prompting more out of his subjects that they were usually planning to divulge. 

And now he was wasting his precious time talking to Yuuri, someone who wasn’t even in the competition! 

Yuuri’s heart gave a traitorous squeeze.

“It’s going well, thank you,” Victor answered for him before Yuuri could even open his mouth. “We’ve got Yuuri back on the ice and are looking forward to him joining our coaching team in the near future.”

Yuuri saw red.

The fury that had been simmering inside him suddenly overflowed, burning hotter and hotter - until the calmest thing he could possibly do to avoid punching Victor square in the face was to rip his arm out of Victor’s grip and storm away. He didn’t know where he was going. He ignored Victor calling after him.

He didn’t like Victor rubbing it in that his life was over. He certainly didn’t like him doing so in front of the world’s media. 

* * *

Yuuri didn’t acknowledge Victor when he came back to their hotel room, not moving from his position lying on the bed.

At least, not until Victor sighed and sat down by his feet.

Then, Yuuri was up in a shot. He rolled away as soon as he felt the bed sink, crossing the room to lean against the far wall instead. Yuuri crossed his arms across his chest as he heard Victor chuckle bitterly from the bed.

“You’re mad at me...”

Yuuri didn’t answer.

He knew it was pathetic. It was immature and childish - but even though he had  _ tried  _ to convince himself to forgive Victor, his skin still crawled at the idea of having him so close, at the idea of letting him in again. What if he said something else? What if he hurt him again, only this time, even closer? Yuuri wasn’t sure he could take any more…

He eyed the hotel carpet, picking out the lean of the fibres to distract himself. He wanted to calm down. He didn’t want to be so upset.

But it was  _ Victor  _ who had said the words back at the rink. 

Not Yuuri.

“You … spoke for me.” It took a lot for Yuuri to keep the resentment out of his voice, forcing each word out carefully and quietly.

Just saying them aloud made the rage flood back though, hands curling into fists where they were nestled in his biceps. He pressed the backs of his shoulder blades harder into the wall behind him.

He’d thought they were past that. Yuuri wasn’t the shy little rookie that he’d been when Victor had first taken him on. He was more confident, more sure of himself - even now, slowly picking up the pieces of a world shattered around him. He wasn’t weak. He didn’t appreciate Victor treating him as such.

Victor took too long to reply. “I didn’t think it was something you would want to answer.”

Yuuri’s fists curled tighter. 

“Didn’t you think there was a  _ reason  _ I wouldn’t?”

It would have been a hard question regardless. It would have dragged his mind back to places he didn’t want it to be, thinking about things he didn’t want to remember, just being asked how he was… but at least he would have had some  _ control _ in how he responded, in what he said. Victor took that away from him.

The silence dragged on. 

Yuuri didn’t expect a reply. He was right - he knew he was right. He didn’t need Victor’s confession or apology to make that true. 

“It won’t just stop, Yuuri,” Victor finally said though, breaking the silence. It wasn’t what Yuuri had been waiting for. “You have to  _ do  _ something. Your life isn’t over.”

Yuuri’s jaw clenched, eyes suddenly burning. “Maybe it should be.”

As soon as he said the words, he regretted them.

He saw out of the corner of his eyes how Victor’s head snapped up,  _ felt _ the weight of Victor’s gaze bearing into him, heard the gulp as Victor swallowed half way across the room… he felt Victor’s fear leak through the very air, sending chills down his spine.

That wasn’t what he wanted.

“ _ Yuuri… _ ”

Victor’s voice trembled, cutting through the last of Yuuri’s stubbornness, cracking down his walls. Yuuri’s heart ached to hear it, despite everything.

It was a stupid thing for him to have said. He didn’t mean it. He wasn’t suicidal. He just … didn’t know how to live without skating. It had been his everything. But now it was gone, and it was  _ hard _ \- so hard, that some days Yuuri did wonder what the point was anymore. Not that he would ever do that to Victor. He wasn’t that selfish. And he didn’t want to die - he just wanted to feel alive again.

He let his arms fall away from his chest as he heard the first ragged gasp from the bed, and knew without looking what was happening. His chest ached.

He knew he lashed out. He said mean things and brushed Victor off coldly when the Russian got things wrong, instead of just telling him why he was upset. He knew he wasn’t blameless when everything went wrong. He didn’t have to leave after Victor had answered that question for him - he could have stayed, and answered it for himself after all, set Victor straight.

But he hadn’t. 

He had let Victor rush out to catch him before he’d even fallen, and had gotten mad when he hadn’t picked himself up. 

Yuuri pushed himself off the wall, feeling sick as he swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew it was the right thing to do though, no matter how much his pride was screaming at him. 

He sat down carefully beside Victor on the bed, wrapping an arm around the Russian’s shoulders, and turning him into his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, watching his hand over Victor’s back bob with the telltale trembling. It wasn’t what he’d wanted.

Victor just clutched back, but he didn’t say anything.

Yuuri didn’t expect him to.

He still had Victor’s words to the reporter rolling around in his head, refusing to die. His fingers twisted in the back of Victor’s jacket. There was no way he was going to let Victor get away with it now. He would make Victor a liar. 

Because there was no way in hell he was going to be joining the coaching team. He would make sure of that.

* * *

Yuuri didn’t tell Victor when he went back to the doctors a month later.

He didn’t tell him about the scans.

He didn’t even tell him about the all clear that his brain swelling had significantly reduced, that the risk of another head injury causing him any serious harm at that point was minimal. He was still advised to be extremely cautious, that any future head injuries would probably be more likely to be serious than if he had had them before his accident. One more bad knock could still undo him.

It wasn’t perfect - but it was enough! 

And enough was all Yuuri needed…

He finally felt like he could  _ breathe _ again when he stepped out into the rink, letting his eyes flutter shut as he glided across the ice. There it was - that perfect peace, in nothing but the smooth cut of the blades, the graceful glide - it was the serenity he’d been longing for all those months off. He’d been so scared he’d never get to feel it again.

A sharp clap from the barriers quickly cut through it though, bringing him back to reality. 

For a moment, Yuuri went stiff - wondering if Victor had followed him to the rink. He hadn’t told his husband. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted this one thing for himself. Besides, he hadn’t been sure how he’d react to the ice. He hadn’t been sure if things would go back to how they’d used to be or if he’d simply collapse in tears. He hadn’t wanted an audience for that.

He let out a sigh of relief when all he saw was Yakov at the gate though, his expression unreadable.

Yuuri braced himself for a scolding.

He was at the rink out of hours -  _ alone _ ! With his history, that was enough to be a huge risk. It would be for anyone. It was one of Yakov’s most important rules.

So Yuuri was surprised when a small smile cracked the harsh coach’s lips, arms folding sternly across his chest. 

“We have a lot of work to catch up on.”

Then, Yuuri really did cry.

* * *

Yuuri still didn’t tell Victor.

Even weeks later, when he was still disappearing for  _ late night walks _ , when he reduced his hours teaching the kids, when he started eating Victor’s meal plan alongside him without grumbling...

But that was okay, because Victor didn’t tell Yuuri either. 

Because he’d noticed.

Of course, he’d noticed. He’d be an idiot not to see it. Yuuri wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was. 

He didn’t say anything though. He understood the reasons Yuuri had kept it to himself and Victor respected it. Some days, he thought about telling him. He could help him after all; they could train together, work together, help each other… but then some days Yuuri would come back from his  _ walks _ with a scowl, mumbling that it was cold when Victor asked what was wrong, and Victor knew then that he still needed his privacy. Yuuri  _ needed _ it, and Victor wasn’t about to shock or embarrass his husband out of the one thing that was finally giving him some _ real  _ motivation after months.

It didn’t take long to see the difference. Yuuri was lighter, more open. He slept better. He ate more. He was  _ healthier _ \- and even when he sat in silence, Victor could see that he was actually thinking, his brow furrowed in concentration and eyes focused. The daze was gone.

He was getting his Yuuri back.

To what end, Victor wasn’t sure. He couldn’t ask, but his curiosity drove him wild imagining. It excited him, hoping that one day he would finally get to see his Yuuri back on the ice again where he belonged.

* * *

It wasn’t until the World Championships rolled around that something changed. 

Victor had been nervous in the run up to the competition. It had been the first major competition since Four Continents, since he and Yuuri had had that fight in the hotel room, since he’d announced to the world's media that Yuuri was taking up coaching as a new career… he knew it was a bitter memory for Yuuri, and the idea that he would be reminding him of it just by  _ being there _ made him nervous.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to dwell on it for long. His training regiment leading up to it was brutal, Yakov working him hard. Apparently, the silver from Four Continents was not enough.

They were gunning for gold.

A part of Victor felt like he was setting himself up for a disaster. He barely saw Yuuri, didn’t have a chance to discuss with him how he felt, how he wanted them to act when the media was watching, what he should  _ say… _

And then they were  _ there _ and there was no time left to talk about it. 

It made Victor uncharacteristically nervous, always looking over his shoulder to check for Yuuri’s reaction, always double thinking what he said, what he did...

But then he also remembered the last time he’d underestimated Yuuri, it hadn’t ended well - for him, mostly. Yuuri was stronger than most gave him credit for, Victor reminded himself. Even him. 

He had to trust that if Yuuri needed help, he would ask for it. And if he didn’t want to be there, he would leave.

He told himself that … but it still didn’t stop him looking out of the corner of his eye, unable to ignore the skip of his heart every time he caught Yuuri staring at the ice. He could only guess what he was thinking. 

It nearly cost him his medal.

Victor’s heart had dropped to his stomach as he’d touched a hand down on the ice coming out of his signature quad flip in his free skate, his mind too busy thinking about  _ Yuuri Yuuri Yuuri  _ to focus - even on his comeback World Championships, the competition he’d dominated before going to coach Yuuri.

Yakov’s face said it all when he’d stepped off the ice, hanging his head in shame. He was disappointed in himself. 

“You were distracted,” Yuuri just said as he handed Victor his skate guards, his brow furrowed and eyes guarded.

Victor took a deep breath… and chanced a glance at Yuuri. “I guess I wasn’t motivated enough...”

_ There it was _ . 

Something sparked in Victor’s chest as he saw it, so fast it had barely been there - but it  _ was _ there, right in Yuuri’s eyes! One brief flash of fire, of determination…

It took his breath away.

He still didn’t do badly. He did far from badly - a silver medal strung around his neck by the end of the medal’s ceremony, but he burned inside. He’d wanted better. He  _ could  _ do better…

Maybe if Yuuri came back-

_ But no -  _ that wasn’t fair to blame his own poor performance on Yuuri. Would he be more motivated to fight for gold if Yuuri was skating against him? Absolutely. But he should have still won it anyway. Whether Yuuri returned to skating or not shouldn’t impact his own.

Only it did, because it was  _ Yuuri. _

It was still weighing heavily on Victor’s mind as he let Yakov ferry him to the press conference, moving robotically to the guiding hand on his back.

Perhaps he should retire - for good, this time. Perhaps it was simply his time. He was old now. Gold might be forever off the table for him, whether he liked it or not, so many new, young skaters just pushing boundaries in a way that Victor couldn’t hope to catch up with. Perhaps it was simply time. Perhaps he should bow out gracefully instead of crashing out like Yuuri had.

He didn’t want to relive the last six months of Yuuri’s life. He wasn’t sure he would be able to take it like Yuuri had.

Victor felt like he’d probably go insane...

“Yuuri, how is the coaching going?”

Victor snapped his head up at the question, his blood running cold. He hadn’t noticed the questions being thrown their way, letting Yakov answer for him mostly up until then. Yuuri’s name cracked through all that though.

Victor’s wide eyes found the reporter who had asked the question in the audience and felt his already heavy heart sink further - it was the same one from Four Continents, the one Victor had answered on Yuuri’s behalf about his recovery. Victor felt ice run through his veins, his eyes turning to Yuuri along the panel. 

_ What was he going to say? _

Yuuri’s expression didn’t betray much; a small, polite smile curved his mouth, but his eyes were locked and serious. Victor wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

“I enjoyed my time coaching the juniors,” Yuuri said calmly, voice steady.  _ That was good _ , Victor told himself, heart in his mouth. “But unfortunately I’ve had to withdraw from any further coaching opportunities for the foreseeable future.”

Victor felt his eyes pop wide.

He knew that Yuuri had been reducing his coaching time at the rink, but he hadn’t realised that he’d stopped entirely. How long had that been going on?

“And can you comment more on what we can expect from that?” the reporter pushed.

Yuuri’s smile morphed into a smirk.

It was lightning fast - blink, and you’d miss it! - before Yuuri’s carefully schooled expression was back. 

But Victor hadn’t blinked. 

He saw it - and his heart sped up in his chest as he waited on tenterhooks for Yuuri’s answer, just as curious as the rest of them for what he was going to say next. What had he decided? 

“Only that I will be returning to professional skating next season.” 

Victor’s breath caught in his throat.

Yuuri’s eyes travelled down the length of the panel, effortlessly finding his husband’s. They stared him down with a level of fierce determination that Victor had feared he would never see again. 

“And that I am going to beat Victor Nikiforov at the Grand Prix Final.” 

Victor could only smile for what the next season would bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just write a whole new fic instead of writing the final chapter of my current outstanding fic... yeah  
>  _yeets self of a cliff ___


End file.
